


Extreme Measures (6/?)

by thebasement_archivist



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Fiction, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-08-23
Updated: 2002-08-23
Packaged: 2018-11-20 12:14:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11335443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebasement_archivist/pseuds/thebasement_archivist
Summary: When interests converge, the Consortium goes to extreme and horrifying lengths to destroy Mulder.





	Extreme Measures (6/?)

**Author's Note:**

> Note from alice ttlg, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Basement](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Basement), which moved to the AO3 to ensure the stories are always available and so that authors may have complete control of their own works. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Basement's collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thebasement/profile).

Extreme Measures (6/?)

## Extreme Measures (6/?)

#### by Sagittarius325

Title: Extreme Measures - Chapter Six 

Author: Sagittarius325 

Email: 

Part: 6 of ? 

Season: Five - Post The End/Pre Fight the Future 

Spoilers: Deep Throat, Tooms, Ascension, Apocrypha, Little Green Men, Memento Mori, Pine Bluff Variant, Folie a Deux, Patient X, The Red and The Black, The End, Fight the Future, any Alex Krycek episode 

Rating: NC-17 most definitely 

Pairing: Mulder/other, Mulder/Krycek 

Warnings: This fic depicts extremely graphic m/m interaction, rape, non-consensual sex, violence and bad language. If any of these subjects offends you, if you are underage or the laws of your country prohibit you from reading such material, then go no further. 

Summary: When interests converge, the Consortium goes to extreme and horrifying lengths to destroy Mulder. 

Disclaimer: The characters Mulder, Krycek, Scully, Skinner, Cancer Man, Well Manicured Man etc are the properties of CC and other fortunate people. No infringement is intended. 

Author's Notes: There are graphic food...er, I mean sex scenes here, so be warned :) 

* * *

CHAPTER SIX - Dalliance... 

Brueller was working late, sitting in his armchair by the small, unlit fire, a favoured place to flick through reports during the evening, while Fox observed him, albeit surreptitiously, from his sprawling position on the couch. 

The older man watched enthralled as Fox blinked sleepily in the lamplight, a suppressed yawn winding its way down his pet's chest. It was a sweet gesture that Fox wanted to stay up with his master, a small measure of the loyalty and devotion he had so patently come to feel for Brueller. 

"Meneer Brueller." Daniel's respectful voice from the open doorway drew the Dutchman reluctantly away from his tender ruminations. "There is an early arrival for you." 

"An arrival?" he echoed, nonplussed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Fox draw upright, hazel eyes suddenly sharp and alert for the possibilities, and Brueller cursed the disturbance. "No. Never mind," he said, brusquely, when Daniel began to speak. "I know who it will be. I will deal with this myself." 

He rose and carefully placed the paperwork into his briefcase, before turning his attention to Fox. Going to the younger man, he lightly kissed his pet's lips. "Liefhebben, I have some important business to discuss," he said. "Go to bed now, and I will join you when I can." 

"But Hans..." Fox began to protest, but Brueller silenced his lips with a finger. 

"Hush now. No arguments." Then added, more firmly, "Go on now." 

When Fox had reluctantly left, the Dutchman followed Daniel into the breakfast room, to the unexpected guest that awaited him. The man was standing at the doors that led out onto the terrace, hands clasped behind his back, affecting an interest in something beyond the windows. Through the glass, Brueller could see the sky had given way to dusk, though a few faded streaks of vermilion still lingered after the sun had set. 

"It was a spectacular sight," Warren said, though he didn't turn. 

"Are you speaking of the sunset?" Brueller enquired, crossing to the bar to pour two sniffers of brandy. 

Warren laughed and left his position to take the proffered drink. To Brueller, he appeared older, his once sun-kissed skin darker, no longer smooth, the clipped hair more white than the gold blond remembered. Yet the blue eyes that peered out of the aquiline features were just as bright, just as shrewd. 

"What else _could_ I be speaking of?" Warren went to take a seat on the sofa, casually crossing his legs. 

Brueller smiled. What else indeed. 

"So, is the lovely Fox here abouts?" Warren asked, mildly, before sipping at his brandy. 

"He was tired," Brueller replied, taking the chair opposite. "I have sent him to bed." 

"A place he is eminently suited for." Then, "I would like to meet him." It was spoken politely, yet there was an underlying demand. 

Brueller almost smiled. Warren could be transparent...when he desired to be so. "As you wish, Warren," the Dutchman responded, wondering a little at a sudden feeling of discomfort. Fox did, after all, belong to Brueller much in the same way as his thoroughbreds and he had never felt conflicted at putting them out to stud. For the right price of course. 

Should he choose to seal an alliance with Warren using Fox's body as collateral, it would be his right and well within the constraints set out by his Consortium partners. 

Warren shifted, re-crossed his legs. "I must admit, I am a little curious. Where on Earth did you find such a treasure, Hans? He is an American, that much is obvious, but what else is he?" 

Brueller considered his answer carefully. "He was a gift, from friends. Fox had been through a terrible time and they needed someone to care for him." 

It was a deliberately ambiguous account, and the look that flitted momentarily over Warren's features told Brueller he suspected something that was far closer to the truth. After all, Warren had seen the video, had seen scars that spoke of poor treatment at the very least. 

"He can be quite a handful at times," Brueller added, with a shrug, as if that explained all. 

"I'm sure he can be," Warren said, raising a provocative eyebrow. 

As he took a sip of his drink, Brueller was once again seized by an unexpected covetousness. He wanted Fox to himself, wanted those begging lips for his sole use, the tight ass kept for his exclusive attention alone. 

What Brueller did not want was for Warren to be the one who instigated the small noises Fox made when he was aroused, or for him to look into Fox's eyes at the height of passion and find that they were black. 

Was it possible that he had become so obsessed by Fox Mulder that he had allowed himself to fall under his pet's spell? Brueller gave the word love the derision it deserved, but the result was the same. In caring for Fox the way he did, he was creating a vulnerability for himself, a dangerous chink in his carefully constructed armour. 

And that he could not permit. 

Brueller knew the perfect cure for such foolish sentiments. He glanced at Warren, knowing the other man would scent his turmoil given time, and bowed his head slightly. "I believe something can be arranged for tomorrow morning, a demonstration. Something we will both find satisfactory." 

Warren smiled and raised his glass. "To the morning, then," he toasted, and finished his drink. 

* * *

The shower spray was hitting his unprotected back, stinging slightly and Fox shifted in his uncomfortable position. He was bent forward, his palms splayed flat against the tiles on the wall, his legs wide apart. He felt Brueller come to stand between them, felt hands on his exposed ass, fingers probing. 

Brueller caressed the flesh, before sliding his large hands round to grip Fox's hips, a warning gesture, and Fox tried to relax for what was to happen. 

The burning sensation flared as Brueller entered him, but both men were still slick from the first round during the night, and it faded to a tolerable degree. It no longer hurt as much when Brueller worked his way inside purely for his own pleasure, especially since his master was always careful to keep him well lubricated, perhaps something of a kindness on the older man's part. 

Brueller grunted as he forced himself all the way in and Fox braced his hands against the wall as he began to thrust, long and hard, missing the spot Fox had come to appreciate so well. Even so, a kernel of arousal was stirring in his groin, an ingrained response garnered from so many nights spent in the pursuit of their mutual pleasure. Thighs like steel hit Fox's as he was pounded, fingers digging into his hips to keep him still and steady. Fox couldn't suppress his own grunts beneath the ramming, didn't even try to as they had in the past excited his master and brought him to a quicker conclusion. 

Moments later, he felt Brueller's cock skewer wildly, and knew that his master was close already. The speed of the thrusts grew, heavy balls slapping against Fox's, the thick cock, slick and swollen, pistoning rapidly in and out of his rectum. 

Then Brueller was climaxing inside him in a spurt of warm fluid, his hips a blurring motion. His master continued to thrust violently until he had emptied himself into Fox, then stilled, his shrinking organ lodged inside the snug sheath, twitching in aftershock. 

Head down, Fox waited for his master to withdraw, waited for the sucking sounds as the now flaccid cock slid free. Instead, Brueller reached forward to shut off the shower, then ran his fingers down Fox's back, along his flanks, touching his buttocks. 

"Time for your surprise, liefhebben," Brueller said, using that peculiar endearment Fox had come to love, sounding understandably out of breath from his exertions. 

Fox twisted his head to one side, though he couldn't see his master's face. "What is it?" 

A hand left his buttocks and circled round to caress his stiffening cock and he felt himself grown rigid under the assured, knowing touch. 

"I am hosting a function, here at the house. Tonight." 

Fox bucked as the slippery hand massaged his balls, the other hand joining its mate to tease his erection. He groaned at the twin movements, wanting desperately to thrust into Brueller's fist. 

"There are many guests who will wish to meet you, my Fox." 

Abruptly, Brueller pulled away, out of Fox and set the shower going. Fox couldn't believe his master would leave him with such an aching need and he waited, wondered what game was being played now. When Brueller slapped at one of his presented buttocks, Fox yelped and straightened. 

"Clean yourself," his master ordered, amused. "It is time for breakfast." Then the older man stepped out of the shower. 

Fox washed himself carefully, wincing when every touch seemed to ignite his sensitive cock and by the time he had finished, he wanted nothing more than to relieve himself, but Brueller hadn't given him permission. Stepping into the bathroom, he looked for the other man, but found no sign of him. Unwilling to trail water into the bedroom, Fox dried himself as quickly as he could, then padded into the other room naked. 

Brueller had dressed, looking wealthy, homely in a pair of tan trousers and a woollen sweater. He beckoned Fox over, nodded approvingly at his pet's aroused state, then manoeuvred the younger man onto the bed, pressing him down into the cool sheets. 

Fox shivered in excitement and expectation, feeling naked and wanton before his master. _Slut_ , he thought to himself, unable to repress a grin at that. 

His smile died when Brueller withdrew three strips of black cloth from the bedside cabinet. "Close your eyes, sweet Fox," his master ordered, gently. 

When Fox slowly complied, he felt one of the cloths slip securely over his eyelids and tied behind his head. Brueller's mouth found his in the sudden dark, a hand sliding over his bare stomach. 

"Put your hands up." 

And Fox obeyed, fingers curling as the other cloths, wide bands of woven silk, were wrapped snugly around his wrists, tying him securely to the bedposts. They had never done this before, and Fox found it unnerving, yet somehow intensely erotic. His master could do whatever he pleased to his thrall, could alternately hurt or pleasure Fox. Anything. And Fox would be powerless to prevent it. 

"So what would the safe word be?" he queried, keeping his voice light, even as he subtly tested his bonds. 

"There are no safe words here, my pet," he heard his master reply. "I will simply do anything I wish to you." 

Which of course sent another electric thrill down Fox's spine, spiking straight into his groin. Then Brueller's weight left the bed, his hands withdrawing, leaving Fox bereft of his only anchor in the darkness. He strained to listen and was rewarded with the sound of the bedroom door opening, footsteps crossing the carpeted floor. 

"What...?" he began, raising his head. 

"Ssh, Fox," he heard Brueller soothe, as a weight descended next to him. "Breakfast." 

There was a chink of cutlery, a rattle of dishes, then something was pressed to his lips, something soft. Egg, he noted as he chewed the morsel, relishing the taste of actual food. He hadn't realised how hungry he was until the hand began to feed him. Later, there were slivers of bacon and French toast, the final piece of which left a sticky smudge of something sweet at the side of his mouth. Before he could remove it, a tongue swooped in and licked it clean. 

And that was how it began. An icy object descended on his lips, and Fox sought it out, tasting frozen water and the warm fingers that held it. Then it was moving south, sliding under his jaw, tracing a brittle line over the curve of his Adam's apple. Fox squirmed as it slid down his chest, then hissed as it circled his left nipple. His right was suddenly sucked into a warm mouth and he gasped at the conflicting sensations. 

As both cube and mouth were withdrawn, Fox suddenly frowned beneath the blindfold, his skin rippling into gooseflesh, his excitement fading. Something wasn't right, the touch unfamiliar... 

"It is alright, Fox," Brueller's disembodied voice reassured. "I am here." 

More food, a touch of lips on his as it was passed into his mouth. There was something pungent in his master's breath, redolent of spices, and Fox leaned up for a fuller taste. The mouth was quickly withdrawn from his reach and he heard Brueller's chuckle. 

"Such a greedy little Fox," his master chided. 

Fox grinned at that, readying a salacious reply, then jumped as a cool, thick substance was smothered into the hollow of his navel. His cock was suddenly reawakened by a soft lick at his abdomen, then a scrape, before a small, round object was pressed into his open mouth. Fox took a cautious bite, tasted cream, followed by a burst of sweetness. Strawberry, he realised, swallowing eagerly. 

Another, lazy lick trailed across his stomach set a familiar ache pulsing through his groin and he moaned, unconsciously twisting against his bonds. Another strawberry, delivered by the other's mouth, and this time the breath was as sweet as the fruit. 

Sharp pinpricks scratched a soft line along his jaw, then grazed over his left nipple, a triple-tined sensation that provoked another gasp, and created a surge of lust that pooled like quicksilver in his balls. A fork, he guessed, through a blood-filled haze, as the metal was slowly dragged down his chest, caressing over his abdomen, to slide further south... 

Without warning a cold, wet liquid was drizzled over his groin, streaking his erect cock and Fox arched with a startled cry. The tongue quickly turned its attention there, tasting him, keeping him on a knife-edge of pleasure. When it returned to his mouth, the tip flicking tantalisingly at his lips, Fox lunged forward to capture it, tasting strawberry and himself there. 

Then it was gone again. Fox slumped back into the pillows with a whimper, held in an exquisite torment, desperate to remove the blindfold, to move his hands and touch himself directly, since the other refused to do so. His skin was overly, unbearably sensitised and he felt he would be pushed over the edge if one more erogenous zone was stimulated. 

He moaned as another soft sensation was drawn up along the underbelly of his erection, toying with the nerve bundles just below the crown. This time, when Fox opened his mouth, fingertips pushed inside, lingering, and he sucked at them furiously. 

Suddenly, the uncomfortable feeling was back, a sense of _wrongness_ , and the fingers were removed. 

"What...what...?" he panicked. Caught between distress and an unbearable arousal, he strained against his bonds, robbed of the one perception he now craved. 

"Be calm, my little Fox," his master's voice hushed. 

But even that was different somehow. There was even something...odd, in the tone, almost displeased... 

His thoughts were suddenly scattered to the four winds as the ice cube returned, sliding over his balls this time even as his shaft was taken into a hot, moist mouth. Fox cried out, hips thrusting wildly, caught agonisingly between the imminent explosion of his cock and the way his testicles tried to crawl back inside his body. 

"Please...please!" he cried out, no longer sure what it was he was begging for. 

A skilled tongue swirled around his length, as the cube moved downwards, trailing melt-water under his scrotum to stroke across his perineum. Fox parted his legs, lifting his hips, unable to help himself, and the icy cold travelled up to his anus, pushing inside abruptly in a freezing agony, while the hot mouth suddenly took him in hard and deep. 

Fox threw himself against his bonds, arching almost off the bed. Any thoughts of unease fragmented, as he was ripped apart by a mind-shattering orgasm, rendered into a thousand, shuddering pieces, screaming. He was dimly aware of his master's encouraging voice, couldn't even wonder at that impossibility, as the wave seemed to go on and on and on... 

* * *

Fox's body hit the bed with a boneless thump, muscles that had stood out in stark relief at his peak now quivering like gelatine. A pitiful groan escaped his lips, and Brueller sighed, tenderly pushing back hair turned black with perspiration, running a finger down the sticky, heaving chest. 

"That was...wonderful." 

Warren's breathless voice cut through the Dutchman's contemplation of Fox's shuddering body and made the object of his attention go very still. Brueller bent down to kiss the mouth, to reassure, before releasing his pet from his bonds. 

Instantly, Fox was scrambling for the blindfold, ripping it away. When his eyes found Warren's self-satisfied features, traces of his semen still evident on the man's lips, he gaped in disbelief. Brueller met the incredulous stare that was whipped his way and raised an eyebrow at his pet's shocked expression. 

"Did you enjoy that, little Fox?" he enquired, mildly. 

"En-enjoy...?" Fox's gaze danced between the two men, unable to rationalise what had happened. 

Brueller took pity on him and drew the sticky, sweat-soaked frame into his arms, planting a brief kiss on the strawberry sweetened lips. "You need another shower, pet," he murmured. "Go on now, while I speak with Warren." 

Fox drew away, watching both men with all the warmth of a cornered animal, then slid off the bed. He clutched Brueller's discarded robe to him and the Dutchman almost smiled. It was a little late for that. 

After Fox had fled into the bathroom, Brueller returned his attention to his guest. Warren was propped up against the headboard, long legs crossed at the ankle, his very insistent erection going untouched, at least for now. As Brueller watched, he happily picked off the remaining strawberries. 

"Very sweet," he commented, before popping one whole into his mouth. 

Brueller laughed. "Are we speaking of strawberries?" he asked, deliberately echoing the start of their previous conversation. 

"Oh, I think we both know what I am talking about," Warren replied, with a wink. "He's lovely, truly Hans. So sensitive, so...responsive. I think I envy you, my friend." 

Brueller folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, listening to the sound of running water emerging from the bathroom. No matter the reticence Fox displayed now, he had enjoyed Warren's touch at the time, had writhed and moaned like a bitch in heat. 

"Such decadent lips," Warren was enthusing, happily. "So ripe. So obviously made for pleasuring a man." 

His hand drifted down to his crotch, squeezing lightly. Brueller affected not to notice. 

Then Warren's expression took on a thoughtful slant. "He's older than he looks, isn't he Hans. Not that I'm criticising. Your taste always did run to the unique and rare, rather than merely young and comely. But I've seen scars from bullet wounds before." 

"Fishing for information, Warren?" Brueller asked, dryly. 

"Of course. You know very well that keeping his history a secret will be like stirring a hornet's nest at your little soiree tonight." 

"And if you can give them a hint, your already swollen herd of love-struck sycophants will be multiplied." 

"Not so. I merely wish to warn you that should sweet Fox's past turn out to be less than desirable, it could be damaging to your reputation." 

"And since when did my reputation become your concern?" Brueller demanded, but without rancour. Their verbal sparring, like most things, was merely part of the rituals of doing business, a warm up before contracts were thrashed out over a boardroom table. "Besides," he continued, "Fox possesses no memory of his past, and since I will not speak, there will be nothing for the gossip mongers to spread." 

Warren shook his head, exasperated. "And that, my friend, will be the cause of even more speculation." He tossed the last of the strawberries into his mouth and chewed in contemplation, a slow smile spreading across his face. "So Hans, after that pretty demonstration, I think we do have business to discuss, after all." 

* * *

Fox scrubbed at the mess his body had become after being used as his own, personal breakfast table. Even through the scalding wash of water, it was hard to feel entirely clean. He felt so debauched, so depraved. His master had allowed another man to touch his property, to taste and lick him, but it was the most incredible foreplay Fox had ever experienced. He had sensed something was wrong but had still allowed his tormentor to bring him to a screaming orgasm. 

He suddenly wondered if it was Hans' intention to sell him to the other. An image of chill, aquamarine eyes came to him, an echo of the ocean, set in a long, dark face grinning in a near-malicious glee at Fox's shock. So different from Brueller's heat, so far removed from the strength and desire of the larger man. 

For all his owner's unthinking cruelties, Fox didn't want to leave him, leave what he knew and had become accustomed to. He still bore the hurt of his mistress' abandonment and wondered if he had somehow displeased his master to warrant being traded off once more. 

Fear clenched his gut and suddenly the strawberries, which had tasted so good at the time, refused to sit well on his stomach. He had to grit his teeth and breathe deeply through his nose to prevent them from making an unwelcome re-emergence. 

Abruptly, the shower door was opened and Fox blinked through the droplets that lined his eyelashes, accepting the hand on his elbow that guided him from the stall. 

Brueller held his towel, and without preamble, began to dry Fox with long, languorous strokes. Fox permitted the ministrations, even luxuriated in the considered touches that caressed his body, slid across his stomach in a way that turned his insides to water. He loved this facet of his master, the attentive consideration, as if Fox was some precious, fragile thing that needed to be pampered, to be held and taken good care of. 

Yet why would his master lavish such care upon his property if he intended to sell him? And that thought alone was enough to depress Fox's enjoyment of his master's attentions. His body language must have given away his misery, for the older man paused and took Fox's chin in a gentle grip, lifting so their eyes would meet, inches apart. 

"What is it, liefhebben?" Brueller murmured, frowning, running a finger down his pet's face. "Why the crestfallen look?" 

Fox wanted to turn away from the golden eyes, their soft concern, but was implacably held. 

"Are you going to sell me?" he demanded, unable to remain silent, frantically searching his master's eyes for any sign of assent. 

Instead, Brueller appeared taken aback, then amused, and he pulled Fox to him, strong arms wrapped tightly around his property. "Is that what has you so unhappy, my pet, my sweet Fox? You thought I would give you to Warren?" 

Fox nodded, his own arms around his master's waist. Brueller pulled back to study his face, thick fingers carding through Fox's wet hair. 

"You are so bright, liefhebben, such a smart, beautiful fox cub to know so much. But you do not know me at all if you think I will ever let you go." He touched Fox's face in wonderment. "You do not even realise your own worth, do you? How beautiful you are, how utterly perfect? I am a very wealthy man, Fox, yet I would give it all up to possess you." 

Brueller's final words had fallen to a whisper, as if uttering a terrible secret, something to be kept silent and hidden. But before Fox could respond, Brueller abruptly released him and stepped back, frowning at Fox as if his pet had done something to cause him displeasure. 

"Finish drying yourself, Fox," he ordered, roughly. "Then you will wait for me in the bedroom. I have important matters to discuss downstairs and I cannot afford interruptions." 

Then the older man was gone, leaving Fox clutching the towel in bewilderment 

* * *

As Brueller descended the stairs, he attempted to dismiss the inappropriate endearments merely as an act to calm Fox. And yet, he could not deny to himself that there was some truth to his words. Despite his best intentions, Fox had become - and Brueller hesitated to use the word - a weakness. And in the Dutchman's survivalist world, such a thing could prove fatal. 

Not for the first time, Brueller wondered if his business associates had gifted him Fox Mulder for that very purpose. Knowing his infatuation with the FBI Agent, knowing Fox's appeal, had they somehow contrived to send the Dutchman a honey-trap, an admittedly desirable one at that, that would snap irrevocably shut at the first signs of Brueller's growing attachment to it? 

Had it been any toy other than Fox, Brueller would have disposed of his vulnerability without pause or conscience. Regret, perhaps, though an overdose of anaesthetic would be a soft, painless death. 

Yet the conditions of his current pet's servitude prevented such extreme measures, stating in quite explicit terms that Fox Mulder was not to be permanently harmed. Used thoroughly, of course, even physically disciplined as Brueller saw fit, but no lasting damage that would render the former FBI Agent useless. To go against such orders would see Brueller besieged by the very organization he hoped to avoid conflict with. 

And even if he could somehow manage to divest himself of his luscious pet, Brueller found the very thought of destroying a spirit like Fox abhorrent. No, he would sooner see every work of art in his collection put into flames than see his pet put down like a common animal. 

Yet Warren would be watching him over the coming days, searching for cracks in the shield. If the other found any, there would be no deal, no negotiations, and if the sharks were to scent blood in the water, powerful allies or no, Brueller might well find himself ruined. 

And all because of one Fox William Mulder. 

It was a laughable, ridiculous notion, and Brueller dismissed the thought as such. Fox was his, and should he choose to refuse Warren's request for a more...lengthy meeting with his pet, then let the predators come and discover for themselves how far the Dutchman would go to keep what was rightfully his. 

* * *

Fox stretched, wincing at the pull of muscles too long idle, and slowly turned his head to the sound of steady breathing. Brueller was lying close, one arm draped languorously over his pet's chest, the strong features relaxed and satiated, a lion gorged its fill on the flesh of its prey. Fox could recall vividly the details of their recent bout of intimacy, but while the memories were crisply clear, the emotions that had unexpectedly been brought into play were something else entirely. 

Some time after his encounter with the white-haired stranger, Fox had become aware of Brueller's presence as a shadow that filled the bedroom doorway. For a long moment, his master had simply stood and watched as his pet lay fully clothed and supine on the bed. Any words Fox had been about to form died in his throat as Brueller crossed the floor to make love to him. 

It was the only word to describe what had happened next. Fox had reached up to remove his T-shirt, even as his master had slipped his jeans free. Brueller had been impatient, insistent, yet strangely gentle as he prepared them both. He turned Fox onto his side and spooned up close, one arm underneath Fox's neck, the hand planted against Fox's chest to hold him steady, the other hand parting the younger man's buttocks. 

Brueller had begun to work his way inside Fox with small, steady thrusts, advancing a little before retreating, a slow penetration as he rocked both their bodies together. But once fully hilted, he had paused, though it obviously took all his self-control to do so, unmoving as if awaiting some signal of Fox's assent. 

"Is that alright, liefhebben?" Brueller had whispered, from behind. 

In reply, Fox leaned his head back in silent submission, feeling Brueller's mouth descend on the sensitive spot just behind his ear. A heavy thigh was thrown over his own, holding him still, a hot hand firm on his stomach. His master had begun to move inside him then, slowly at first, building up an irreversible tension of pleasure for them both. Fox placed his own hand atop the one on his navel, instinctively moving his body in time to his master's, feeling the lightning strikes against his prostate grow surer, harder, unable to prevent small, animal noises from escaping his throat. 

"Ssh...ssh Fox," Brueller had crooned, moving his hand up to stroke Fox's lip, sliding two fingers inside to be sucked. 

It was odd, unusual, for Brueller normally encouraged him to vocalise his pleasure, enjoyed his unrestrained cries. But even the sex was unfamiliar, a soft, sensual kind of intercourse, far removed from the violent couplings or the purely pleasure filled fucks they had so often practised in the past. Brueller was taking his time, moving in long, slow strokes, establishing a deep, erotic rhythm. 

"Fox," he had husked, during. "You feel so good...so right...made for me, only for me..." 

At least, Fox believed he had. It was hard to think through the haze of pleasure, with his master so close, their bodies rising and falling together. Brueller had caressed Fox's erection with an agonisingly gentleness, as if afraid his pet would break from too much exertion, his other hand pressed against Fox's mouth. And when Fox eventually arched against him as he came, his master followed with a low groan and a soft, "yes." 

"Liefhebben," Brueller had breathed into the shell of his ear, brushing back Fox's hair with tender fingertips. 

Like the sex, his voice had been soft, reverent...laced with an undefined emotion that Fox had never before encountered during their usual sex games. He didn't know how long they remained intimately entwined, Brueller wrapped around him, bestowing mellow, worshipful kisses to heated skin, his flaccid cock still inside his pet, the large vein pulsing in rhythm to Brueller's heart. Fox had never felt so cherished, so possessed. And strangely, he didn't want it to stop. 

Yet eventually it had to come to an end. Brueller pulled out carefully, rolled his weight away and headed into the bathroom, leaving Fox time to ponder what game his master was now playing. For it had to be a game, the gentle lovemaking, the nibbling kisses. 

_What next_ , Fox mused wryly, _flowers and candy? Dinner at a restaurant, a night at the opera? Must be the romance of the century._

The sardonic flow of his thoughts were interrupted with Brueller's return. Fox made to rise, but his master urged him down. 

"Lie back," Brueller said, and set about cleaning his pet, a task that was normally Fox's to perform. 

Brueller had stripped himself of his stained clothing and laid down beside Fox, a hand running up and down his pet's chest. Emboldened by their recent intimacy, Fox used the post-coital moment to ask the questions he had burned to ever since breakfast. 

"Hans, who is Warren?" 

"A friend," was the ambiguous reply, and Fox sighed and rolled to face his master. Brueller smiled and reached up to caress his face. "My, what a sulky fox cub you are when you do not get your way." 

Fox raised a cool eyebrow at that and Brueller chuckled in amusement. "Very well, little Fox," he said, closing his eyes and sleepily resting a hand on Fox's bare hip. "Warren is a old business associate, one with whom I wish to make an alliance." 

"What kind of alliance?" 

"Fox," his master growled, exasperated, giving the flesh beneath his hand a small shake. He relented, and moved his muscled body to press Fox down into the mattress. "Close your eyes, liefhebben." 

"But..." 

"Do so, or I will not answer." 

Fox complied, feeling hot, feathery breath against his cheek as Brueller settled alongside him. 

"Warren is a very rich man, Fox. There is something I need from him, just as there is something he needs from me. Yet I needed something that would draw his attention, something that would..." He paused, searching for the right phrase. 

"Sweeten the deal?" Fox offered, stiffly. 

Brueller kissed the side of his jaw, trailing a hot tongue up to his ear. "Ja, something like that." 

"But you don't intend to..." Suddenly, Fox couldn't finish, didn't want to know what else might be in store for him with Warren. 

Something in Brueller's touch changed, became gentler. "I will not let anyone hurt you, Fox," he promised, before bestowing a tender kiss. "No one. And after I have secured this final arrangement, I will take you to places you have only dreamed of. We will visit every wonder of the world and you will want for nothing. Nothing." 

_Except the freedom to choose._ Fox blinked sleepily, hearing the angry voice in his head, the fury of having the choice of consent forever denied him. 

"Sleep now," his master was saying. "You are tired." 

Brueller's hands were soothing, strong and comforting, and Fox had fallen asleep to the loving touches, exhausted. 

Now, it was late afternoon by the heavy, overcast sky outside. Brueller stirred and opened his eyes, rubbing his thumb across Fox's skin, before moving up for the requisite kiss. He lingered there for a while, but as with the sex, it was far too gentle, too solicitous. 

"How do you feel, Fox?" Brueller asked, at last. 

"Sore," Fox replied, using the moment as an excuse to release the ache in his muscles further. He arched, stretching his arms above his head with a lazy yawn and felt Brueller placed a warm hand on the stark outline of his ribs. 

"We must get ready. It will not be long now before our guests start to arrive." Brueller climbed out of the bed to pull on a robe. "I want you at my side to greet them." 

"As your pet?" The words were out of Fox's mouth before he could even think to take it back. 

Brueller hesitated, then was kneeling across the bed, taking Fox's face in a gentle grip. 

"Never think that, liefhebben," he said, with quiet intent. "You belong to me, that much is true, but you are much more than a pet. You are my companion, my beautiful concubine, the source of my constant delight and interest. You are so very much more than a pet." 

Fox nodded. Semantics. And did it really matter anyway? 

**END OF CHAPTER SIX**

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